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The Mole Was Bewitched, Entranced, Fascinated. By The Side Of The River He Trotted As One Trots, When Very Small, By The Side Of A Man Who Holds One Spellbound By Exciting Stories; And When Tired At Last, He Sat On The Bank, While The River Still Chattered On To Him, A Babbling Procession Of The Best Stories In The World, Sent From The Heart Of The Earth To Be Told At Last To The Insatiable Sea.

-Kenneth Grahame

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The Mole Was Bewitched,

Kenneth Grahame

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The Mole Was Bewitched, Entranced, Fascinated. By The Side Of The River He Trotted As One Trots, When Very Small, By The Side Of A Man Who Holds One Spellbound By Exciting Stories; And When Tired At Last, He Sat On The Bank, While The River Still Chattered On To Him, A Babbling Procession Of The Best Stories In The World, Sent From The Heart Of The Earth To Be Told At Last To The Insatiable Sea.

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Come Along Inside... We'll See If Tea And Buns Can Make The World A Better Place.

All Along The Backwater, Through The Rushes Tall, Ducks Are A-dabbling, Up Tails All!

Wind In The Willows

Monkeys Who Very Sensibly Refrain From Speech, Lest They Should Be Set To Earn Their Livings.

The River , Corrected The Rat, It's My World...what It Hasn't Got Is Not Worth Having.

We Shall Creep Out Quietly Into The Butler's Pantry--" Cried The Mole. "--with Out Pistols And Swords And Sticks--" Shouted Ther Rat. "--and Rush In Upon Them," Said Badger. "--and Whack 'em, And Whack 'em, And Whack 'em!" Cried The Toad In Ecstasy, Running Round And Round The Room, And Jupming Over The Chairs.

Toad Talked Big About All He Was Going To Do In The Days To Come, While Stars Grew Fuller And Larger All Around Them, And A Yellow Moon, Appearing Suddenly And Silently From Nowhere In Particular, Came To Keep Them Company And Listen To Their Talk.

The Wild Wood Is Pretty Well Populated By Now; With All The Usual Lot, Good, Bad, And Indifferent--i Name No Names. It Takes All Sorts To Make A World.

He Had Got Down To The Bones Of It, And They Were Fine And Strong And Simple.

There Seemed To Be No End To This Wood, And No Beginning, And No Difference In It, And, Worse Of All, No Way Out

Toad, With No One To Check His Statements Or To Criticize In An Unfriendly Spirit, Rather Let Himself Go. Indeed, Much That He Related Belonged More Properly To The Category Of What-might-have-happened-had-i-only-thought-of-it-in-time-instead-of-ten-minutes-afterwards. Those Are Always The Best And Raciest Adventures; And Why Should They Not Be Truly Ours, As Much As The Somewhat Inadequate Things That Really Come Off?

Banquets Are Always Pleasant Things, Consisting Mostly, As They Do, Of Eating And Drinking; But The Specially Nice Thing About A Banquet Is, That It Comes When Something's Over, And There's Nothing More To Worry About, And To-morrow Seems A Long Way Off.

Badger Hates Society, And Invitations, And Dinner, And All That Sort Of Thing.

There Is Nothing -- Absolutely Nothing -- Half So Much Worth Doing As Simply Messing About In Boats. In Or Out Of 'em, It Doesn't Matter. Nothing Seems Really To Matter, That's The Charm Of It. Whether You Get Away, Or Whether You Don't; Whether You Arrive At Your Destination Or Whether You Reach Somewhere Else, Or Whether You Never Get Anywhere At All, You're Always Busy, And You Never Do Anything In Particular; And When You've Done It There's Always Something Else To Do, And You Can Do It If You Like, But You'd Much Better Not.

Beyond The Wild Wood Comes The Wild World,"said The Rat."and That's Something That Doesn't Matter, Either To You Or To Me. I've Never Been There, And I'm Never Going' Nor You Either, If You've Got Any Sense At All.

Take The Adventure, Heed The Call, Now Ere The Irrevocable Moment Passes! 'tis But A Banging Of The Door Behind You, A Blithesome Step Forward, And You Are Out Of Your Old Life And Into The New!

Since Early Morning He Had Been Swimming In The River, In Company With His Friends The Ducks. And When The Ducks Stood On Their Heads Suddenly, As Ducks Will, He Would Dive Down And Tickle Their Necks, Just Under Where Their Chins Would Be If Ducks Had Chins, Till They Were Forced To Come To The Surface Again In A Hurry, Spluttering And Angry And Shaking Their Feathers At Him, For It Is Impossible To Say Quite All You Feel When Your Head Is Under Water.

There He Got Out The Luncheon-basket And Packed A Simple Meal, In Which, Remembering The Stranger's Origin And Preferences, He Took Care To Include A Yard Of Long French Bread, A Sausage Out Of Which The Garlic Sang, Some Cheese Which Lay Down And Cried, And A Long-necked Straw-covered Flask Wherein Lay Bottled Sunshine Shed And Garnered On Far Southern Slopes.

The Mole Had Long Wanted To Make The I Acquaintance Of The Badger. He Seemed, By All Accounts, To Be Such An Important Personage And, Though Rarely Visible, To Make His Unseen Influence Felt By Everybody About The Place.

Here Today, Up And Off To Somewhere Else Tomorrow! Travel, Change, Interest, Excitement! The Whole World Before You, And A Horizon That's Always Changing!

Weasels--and Stoats--and Foxes--and So On. They're All Right In A Way--i'm Very Good Friends With Them--pass The Time Of Day When We Meet, And All That--but They Break Out Sometimes, There's No Denying It, And Then--well, You Can't Really Trust Them, And That's The Fact.

Footprints In The Snow Have Been Unfailing Provokers Of Sentiment Ever Since Snow Was First A White Wonder In This Drab-coloured World Of Ours.

Spring Was Moving In The Air Above And In The Earth Below And Around Him, Penetrating Even His Dark And Lowly Little House With Its Spirit Of Divine Discontent And Longing.

Onion Sauce! Onion Sauce!

Then Suddenly The Mole Felt A Great Awe Fall Upon Him, An Awe That Turned His Muscles To Water, Bowed His Head, And Rooted His Feet To The Ground. It Was No Panic Terror - Indeed He Felt Wonderfully At Peace And Happy - But It Was An Awe That Smote And Held Him And, Without Seeing, He Knew It Could Only Mean That Some August Presence Was Very, Very Near.

The Rat, Meanwhile, Was Busy Examining The Label On One Of The Beer-bottles. "i Perceive This To Be Old Burton," He Remarked Approvingly. "sensible Mole! The Very Thing! Now We Shall Be Able To Mull Some Ale. Get The Things Ready, Mole, While I Draw The Corks."

O What A Flowery Track Lies Spread Before Me, Henceforth! What Dust Clouds Shall Spring Up Behind Me As I Speed On My Reckless Way! What Carts I Shall Fling Carelessly Into The Ditch In The Wake Of My Magnificent Onset!

Everything Seems Asleep, And Yet Going On All The Time. It Is A Goodly Life That You Lead, Friend; No Doubt The Best In The World, If Only You Are Strong Enough To Lead It!

There Was The Noise Of A Bolt Shot Back, And The Door Opened A Few Inches, Enough To Show A Long Snout And A Pair Of Sleepy Blinking Eyes.

Animals When In Company Walk In A Proper And Sensible Manner, In Single File, Instead Of Sprawling All Across The Road And Being Of No Use Or Support To Each Other In Case Of Sudden Trouble Or Danger.

But Mole Stood Still A Moment, Held In Thought. As One Wakened Suddenly From A Beautiful Dream, Who Struggles To Recall It, But Can Recapture Nothing But A Dim Sense Of The Beauty In It, The Beauty! Till That, Too, Fades Away In Its Turn, And The Dreamer Bitterly Accepts The Hard, Cold Waking And All Its Penalties.

No Animal, According To The Rules Of Animal-etiquette, Is Ever Expected To Do Anything Strenuous, Or Heroic, Or Even Moderately Active During The Off-season Of Winter.

Well, Very Long Ago, On The Spot Where The Wild Wood Waves Now, Before Ever It Had Planted Itself And Grown Up To What It Now Is, There Was A City - A City Of People, You Know

You Are Brave! For My Sake, Do Not Be Rash!

In Midmost Of The Stream, Embraced In The Weir's Shimmering Arm-spread, A Small Island Lay Anchored, Fringed Close With Willow And Silver Birch And Alder. Reserved, Shy, But Full Of Significance, It Hid Whatever It Might Hold Behind A Veil, Keeping It Till The Hour Should Come, And, With The Hour, Those Who Were Called And Chosen.

A Careful Inspection Showed Them That, Even If They Succeeded In Righting It By Themselves, The Cart Would Travel No Longer. The Axles Were In A Hopeless State, And The Missing Wheel Was Shattered Into Pieces.

Home! That Was What They Meant, Those Caressing Appeals, Those Soft Touches Wafted Through The Air, Those Invisible Little Hands Pulling And Tugging, All One Way.

It's Not The Sort Of Night For Bed, Anyhow.

Why Can't Fellows Be Allowed To Do What They Like When They Like And As They Like, Instead Of Other Fellows Sitting On Banks And Watching Them All The Time And Making Remarks And Poetry And Things About Them?

The Past Was Like A Bad Dream; The Future Was All Happy Holiday As I Moved Southwards Week By Week, Easily, Lazily, Lingering As Long As I Dared, But Always Heeding The Call!

After All, The Best Part Of A Holiday Is Perhaps Not So Much To Be Resting Yourself, As To See All The Other Fellows Busy Working.

Independence Is All Very Well, But We Animals Never Allow Our Friends To Make Fools Of Themselves Beyond A Certain Limit; And That Limit You've Reached

It Seemed A Place Where Heroes Could Fitly Feast After Victory, Where Weary Harvesters Could Line Up In Scores Along The Table And Keep Their Harvest Home With Mirth And Song, Or Where Two Or Three Friends Of Simple Tastes Could Sit About As They Pleased And Eat And Smoke And Talk In Comfort And Contentment.

Well, Very Long Ago, On The Spot Where The Wild Wood Waves Now, Before Ever It Had Planted Itself And Grown Up To What It Now Is, There Was A City - A City Of People, You Know. Here, Where We Are Standing, They Lived, And Walked, And Talked, And Slept, And Carried On Their Business. Here They Stabled Their Horses And Feasted, From Here They Rode Out To Fight Or Drove Out To Trade. They Were A Powerful People, And Rich, And Great Builders. They Built To Last, For They Thought Their City Would Last For Ever.

All This He Saw, For One Moment Breathless And Intense, Vivid On The Morning Sky; And Still, As He Looked, He Lived; And Still, As He Lived, He Wondered.

For My Life, I Confess To You, Feels To Me Today Somewhat Narrow And Circumscribed.

An Errant May-fly Swerved Unsteadily Athwart The Current In The Intoxicated Fashion Affected By Young Bloods Of May-flies Seeing Life. A Swirl Of Water And A 'cloop!' And The May-fly Was Visible No More

The Smell Of That Buttered Toast Simply Spoke To Toad, And With No Uncertain Voice; Talked Of Warm Kitchens, Of Breakfasts On Bright Frosty Mornings, Of Cozy Parlour Firesides On Winter Evenings, When One's Ramble Was Over And Slippered Feet Were Propped On The Fender; Of The Purring Of Contented Cats, And The Twitter Of Sleepy Canaries.

The Strongest Human Instinct Is To Impart Information, The Second Strongest Is To Resist It.

I'm Such A Clever Toad.

The Whole Wood Seemed Running Now, Running Hard, Hunting, Chasing, Closing In Round Something Or - Somebody? In Panic, He Began To Run Too, Aimlessly, He Knew Not Whither.

"glorious, Stirring Sight!" Murmured Toad. . . . "the Poetry Of Motion! The Real Way To Travel! The Only Way To Travel! Here Today - In Next Week Tomorrow! Villages Skipped, Towns And Cities Jumped- Always Somebody Else's Horizons! O Bliss! O Poop-poop! O My! O My!"

It Is The Restrictions Placed On Vice By Our Social Code Which Makes Its Pursuit So Peculiarly Agreeable.

The Mole Was Bewitched, Entranced, Fascinated. By The Side Of The River He Trotted As One Trots, When Very Small, By The Side Of A Man Who Holds One Spellbound By Exciting Stories; And When Tired At Last, He Sat On The Bank, While The River Still Chattered On To Him, A Babbling Procession Of The Best Stories In The World, Sent From The Heart Of The Earth To Be Told At Last To The Insatiable Sea.

The River... It's My World, And I Don't Want Any Other. What It Hasn't Got Is Not Worth Having, And What It Doesn't Know Is Not Worth Knowing. Lord! The Times We've Had Together!

Brain Against Brute Force - And Brain Came Out On The Top - As Its Bound To Do.

Secrets Had An Immense Attraction To Him, Because He Never Could Keep One, And He Enjoyed The Sort Of Unhallowed Thrill He Experienced When He Went And Told Another Animal, After Having Faithfully Promised Not To.

The Clever Men Of Oxford, Know All That There Is To Be Knowed But They None Of Them Know One Half As Much As Intelligent Mr. Toad.

Well, Well, Perhaps I Am A Bit Of A Talker. A Popular Fellow Such As I Am -- My Friends Get Round Me -- We Chaff, We Sparkle, We Tell Witty Stories -- And Somehow My Tongue Gets Wagging. I Have The Gift Of Conversation. I've Been Told I Ought To Have A Salon, Whatever That May Be.

Don't, For Goodness' Sake, Keep On Saying 'don't'; I Hear So Much Of It, And It's Monotonous, And Makes Me Tired.

It'll Be All Right, My Fine Fellow," Said The Otter. "i'm Coming Along With You, And I Know Every Path Blindfold; And If There's A Head That Needs To Be Punched, You Can Confidently Rely Upon Me To Punch It.

As A Rule, Indeed, Grown-up People Are Fairly Correct On Matters Of Fact; It Is In The Higher Gift Of Imagination That They Are So Sadly To Seek.

There Is Nothing - Absolutely Nothing - Half So Much Worth Doing As Simply Messing About In Boats.

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